


In Which Logan Wonders Why He Even Bothers Going Into Bars Anymore

by ninjamcgarrett



Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Wolverine and the X-Men
Genre: Bar Fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 17:53:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninjamcgarrett/pseuds/ninjamcgarrett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Logan is waiting for Hawkeye to pick him up at a dingy bar after a mission and manages to get into a bar fight. (In this fic, he's joined the Avengers.) Snark, some kickass fighting, and grouchy Logan abound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Logan Wonders Why He Even Bothers Going Into Bars Anymore

Logan rotated the tumbler in his hands slowly, watching the dim lighting in the bar strike the whiskey and flash gold against the glass. It was his second of the night, though it’d had no effect – his regenerative mutation saw to that. The Sober Amigos, that’s what Barton called him and Romanoff and Rogers. Between their twisted genetics, it was nearly impossible to get drunk.

The drink burned on the way down and Logan considered drinking half the bar in an attempt to get decently sloshed that night. He bit back on a snarl as the familiar and much-hated thought arose in his mind that other men could lose themselves, distract themselves, comfort themselves in alcohol while he was always faced with the cold, stark reality that had been his life for longer than he cared to admit.

Though things hadn’t been particularly horrid lately, he reminded himself. Fury had sought Logan out when he’d been laying low, trying to avoid any contact with just about everyone. The whole mess with Scott and Jean had torn out the little of his heart that he had had left and that the X-Men had been allowed to see. Though, it’d hadn’t been much, it was the only piece he had left. Fury had made some remark about Logan’s spirit animal being a not-so-cuddly porcupine when the two men had finally met. Logan’s snarl had only made Fury grin and say that his theory was confirmed. That meeting had been an interesting one, Logan had to admit. Somehow, Fury had managed to get Logan to agree to join the Avengers as a consultant.

And now, six months later, he was sitting here at this dingy backwater bar, detoxing after an intel mission. He had grabbed everything Fury wanted and was doing something to pass the time until the Quinjet showed up to take him back to the Helicarrier. This had been a solo mission for Logan, probably because Fury could sense that the man needed some time away from the hustle and bustle of the Helicarrier. Logan couldn’t understand it or explain it, but somehow Fury understood the twisted and warped way that Logan’s brain functioned and always knew when to send Logan off on a solo mission to let him breathe and not feel strangled by all the agents onboard. No wonder Fury was in charge of such a large and still hushed-up organization, Logan thought. The man knew what he was doing. And it probably didn’t hurt that Fury knew that a liable to snap Logan was not something the Helicarrier could deal with anymore than Hawkeye around Valentine’s Day.

The comm in his ear crackled and Barton’s voice came through over the music that was playing in the Quinjet. Logan winced at the volume and at the music choice. He could never understand the archer’s fascination with power ballads. Clint was singing loudly and off-key, just to annoy Logan.

“They say that the road ain’t no place to start a family…”

Clint chuckled before saying, “ETA five minutes, furball. I’ll land in the clearing down the road.”

Logan grunted an acknowledgement as a commotion at the opposite end of the room caught his attention. He looked over his shoulder from where he’d been sitting alone at the long wooden bar at the corner by the old jukebox. A woman in her late twenties was trying to choose a song from the selection while two men sitting nearby were hassling her. She was in her mid-twenties and dressed rather prettily and kept glancing at her watch, obviously waiting for someone to meet her. The men were about the same age and were obviously trying – and failing so far – to pick up women.

“Hey, baby, why don’t you put on a song and dance for us?” one of them said, laughing and elbowing his buddy to join in.

“Fuck that, I’ll dance with you, sweetheart,” the other one said.

Logan could see the muscles in the back of the woman’s neck tighten as she ignored them and picked a bluegrass song with a fast beat. He watched as she turned to walk away but one of the men caught her wrist and pulled her to him, trying to dance with her. She wrenched her hand out of his grasp and spat out a snarl that impressed even Logan.

“Leave me alone,” she said, her voice firm and commanding.

The men – idiots, Logan thought to himself – didn’t take no for an answer and stood on either side of her, barring any exit back to her seat. He stood noiselessly and walked over, wondering how he always managed to attract trouble like this.

“You heard the lady, boys,” he growled, his voice deep and bearing the promise of violence if not obeyed. “Move along.”

One of them looked up at him through slightly bleary eyes; the idiots had obviously had a few to drink. He glared at Logan.

“Who asked for your opinion?”

A wicked grin spread on Logan’s face. “No one. But the lady gave you hers and you should respect it.” He made a shooing motion with one hand. “So, buzz off, frat boy.”

Bleary Eyes grinned, “And who’re you – her dad?”

A chuckle escaped Logan; as if anyone thought he was father material. With his hands hanging at his sides, he clenched one into a fist, cracking the knuckles as a warning.

“Just a guy who wants to enjoy his drink in peace, without dickwads like you disturbing that peace.”

The other drunk frat boy sent a fist flying toward Logan’s face. Without breaking eye contact with Bleary Eyes, Logan threw up a hand, catching the flying fist. Frat Boy’s hand collided with the solid wall of adamantium inside Logan’s skin and the boy howled in pain as the bones in his hand audibly snapped. Logan dropped Frat Boy’s hand and quirked an eyebrow at him.

“That wasn’t nice – ” he managed before Bleary Eyes jumped on him, trying to drag him down.

Suddenly, two bodies smelling of cheap booze and too much testosterone were on top of him, pushing him toward the ground while fists and feet jabbed into his body. Out of the corner of his eye, Logan saw the girl shoot a worried look his way before dashing for a safe corner of the bar.

He grunted and stood, grabbing the collar of each boy’s shirt and pulling them off of him as he stood. Their feet still tried to aim kicks at his sides as he held them up and looked at the woman.

“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “Just go.”

She gave a brief nod of gratitude and fled out the back door.

 _“Enough!”_ he growled at the two scrabbling boys he was still holding on to.

Bleary Eyes ignored him and aimed a punch at Logan’s jaw, obviously not having learned a lesson from Frat Boy’s failed attempt to do the same. Logan dropped both of them. He aimed a kick behind his body at Frat Boy, sending the drunk boy flying across the room and into the wooden bar. Bleary Eyes’ fist connected with the corner of Logan’s jaw and he snarled as the taste of blood filled his mouth.

“Don’t you idiots ever learn?” he snapped as Bleary Eyes howled in pain before trying to hit him again.

When that didn’t work, Bleary Eyes leapt for Logan, latching on to him and his momentum carrying both men to the ground. Logan wrestled the boy into a headlock, the other man’s body lying on top of his own. It was then that the door to the bar burst open and something whistled through the air to sink into the ground at the apex of Bleary Eyes’ crotch.

“Next one lands two inches higher,” Barton said, standing in the doorway, bow in hand and another arrow already notched.

He looked over the scene; taking in Frat Boy slumped against the bar, one hand around his undoubtedly broken ribs and the suddenly still Bleary Eyes in Logan’s grasp.

“I tried to raise you on the comm, but now I can see why you didn’t respond. I could hear the fight outside.”

“What took you so long?” Logan grunted, shoving Bleary Eyes’ face into the floor near the arrow.

“Oh you know, couldn’t find a parking spot big enough, had to wait until the song finished, same old, same old.”

A corner of Logan’s mouth quirked up in a grin, glad for once to hear the archer’s sass. Not that he had needed the back up, but it was nice to know that it was still there when it mattered.

Clint just sighed, returning the arrow to his quiver. “You know we’re going to have to explain this to Fury, right? I don’t know about you, but I just got off that man’s dirt list. I really was hoping to stay off of it for at least another week.”

“You and me both, birdbrain…” 


End file.
